Write quickly, the air
Around you is getting
Thicker, solidifying
So fast a word you loathe
As much as the taste
Of crushed medicine,
"Gelid," comes to mind.
There is no time
Like the absent
For inscribing this air.
You could skate it
And sign it with blades
If you could move.
Seek shelter, slowly
Darkening traveler.
The wind is dead
That used to whisper
The shushing refrain, "when
Skating on thin ice
Our safety lies in speed."
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